I bite my lip. “We’ve never really talked about the future. Not yet. We’re still in that honeymoon phase where we pretend our bodily functions don’t exist. I know he’s serious about me, but this is so soon.”
“Well, the future is now and it just got a whole lot more real,” Lizzie says, gesturing to the pregnancy test. “And you need to talk to him about it.” She snorts out a laugh. “Plus, I hate to break it to you, but pregnancy makes you gassier, so that honeymoon phase is over.”
I smile, knowing she’s right, but the idea of telling Liam, of seeing his face when I drop this bombshell, makes my stomach do a nervous flip. Will he be happy? Shocked? Angry?
I push the thought aside, refusing to let my mind go there. Liam loves me. He’s shown me in a thousand little ways—no, scratch that—a thousand big ways. Not just with words, but with actions. He’s trying so hard not to just be Liam the workaholic, but also the caring man who carves out more time for me. Who makes me his top priority.
And I don’t want to change him. He does work hard. It’s in his DNA. I work hard too. But we’re both learning to find a balance.Me especially, since I’m not technically working right now. I’m building my contacts, getting my new business off the ground.
But a baby? That’s a whole new level of commitment. A level of responsibility that we’ve never even touched on. And I’m not sure either of us is ready for it.
I’ve just set up my Limited company, got my admin shit together, and started putting out feelers to recruiters I know to get my freelance work up and running. It’s like I’m finally getting my ducks in a row, and then BAM! The universe decides to throw a wrench in the works. A baby-shaped wrench.
I swallow hard.
“I’ve just landed my first client. It’s going to be a challenge starting a business while pregnant.”
“If anyone can do it, you can. And I’m here to help.”
I give Lizzie a hug and, of course, the floodgates open as tears roll down my cheeks. My emotions are all over the place.
Winnie, bored with my existential crisis, hops off the tub and saunters over to me. She rubs her face against my leg, purring loudly.
I scoop her up, burying my face in her fur. “What do you think, Miss Winchester-Scott? You ready to be a big sister?”
She meows again, giving me a look that can only be interpreted asListen, human, as long as you keep the gourmet kibble flowing and the litter box pristine, I couldn’t care less what you do with your uterus. Just don’t expect me to babysit.
“You’re just concerned because he brings you far too many treats and you don’t want to share him,” I say.
“When are you going to tell him?” Lizzie asks, her voice cutting through the fur therapy session.
I take a deep breath and sit up straight on the toilet. I can do this. I’ve faced boardrooms full of testosterone-fueled egos, oneof which being Liam. I’ve navigated the shark-infested waters of corporate politics and emerged victorious, albeit slightly jaded.
Telling my boyfriend I’m pregnant should be a piece of cake.
“No time like the present,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. “Wish me luck, Winnie,” I murmur, giving her a quick scratch behind the ears.
She blinks at me, slow and solemn, and I decide to take it as a sign of solidarity.
“Liam, I need to talk to you,” I say in a breathy voice down the phone.
I shift uncomfortably in the wicker chair in the garden, clutching Winnie.
Lizzie’s not-so-subtly watching me from the kitchen window, her nose practically pressed against the glass.
“Everything okay, darling?” Liam asks, panting like he’s just gone ten rounds with a heavyweight champ. I can tell he was in the middle of his boxing session in the office gym.
I wanted to take the pregnancy test at the crack of dawn, because apparently, that’s when the hormone levels are at their peak, and I needed all the certainty I could get.
“Yes, everything’s fine, I just need to talk to you.” Everything’s fine? Sure, if byfineyou meanI’m growing a tiny human inside me and I’m absolutely terrified.
“Are you sure?” He sounds alert now, concerned. I guess he can hear the tension in my voice, even though I’m trying to sound casual.
“Yes. Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad.” At least, I hope he’ll see it that way. I mean, a baby isn’t bad, right? Just . . . life-altering.
“Okay. I’m at the office. Do you want to go for an early lunch? St James Park?”
My stomach does a somersault that would put Olympic gymnasts to shame. I can’t wait that long. I’ll either explode or spill the news to some random stranger on the street just to get it off my chest.
